Of Gods, Old and New
by bluRaaven
Summary: Noah Hawke; Fereldan refugee, nobleman gone rogue, Champion of Kirkwall, a walking-talking calamity and the lover of a glowing apostate with split personality disorder has lived through some trying times. But this was bad, even by his standards. Summary inside because of MAJOR SPOILER ALERT FOR DA:I!


Hawke may have agreed to distract that giant, icky-spider-monster to give his friends a chance at escape, but that part _never_ involved becoming a sacrifice by getting himself eaten.

Because I totally refuse to even consider the possibility that Hawke might be dead. (The choice only says Hawke will 'likely' (not 'surely') die to cover the escape, so it's totally canon compatible. Don't you dare to tell me otherwise!) Also, I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this. A fair warning though, I will most likely postpone any writing until I actually know what happens in the game.

Oh, and if perchance you are afraid of or disgusted by giant demon spiders...well, this fic has one.

* * *

><p>"<em>I'd like to know who this 'Corypheus' is. With a name like that, he's bound to go "Mua-ha-ha" at some point. I just know it."<em>

Don't you hate it when I'm right? I know _I_ hate it when I'm right.

The voice was the familiar timbre of a younger me, carefree and sarcastic, and I heard the words as clearly as if they had been whispered into my ear. I even looked around, but there was nobody at my side except for Stroud whose long stride carried him slightly ahead and I knew the Warden had not spoken. No, this was purely a conjuration of my own mind, mocking me with the memory.

Of course I had known. And I had done nothing, had stuck the matter into the already crammed drawer labeled 'not my damned problem', right in between the whole mess in Kirkwall and some fancy smalls made of red Orlesian silk that my mother had purchased for me on my twenty-eighth birthday.

I guess one of these things had to claw its way out of there someday and come bite me. I can only count myself lucky it was Grey Warden mages sacrificing their fellows in a ritual of blood magic with the intention of raising a demon army and being enslaved by the Elder One in the process, and not the briefs.

"We're almost there!" A cry from further ahead, breathless and raw but full of relief.

About bloody time. I felt like we had been here forever, forced to fight and flee and with nothing but the eerie green sky above us and demons on our trail. Every time my foot hit the ground, jarring my teeth, I felt a jolt of pain through my side, arms and legs heavy weights that swung of their own accord; I wasn't sure I would be able to stop if I wanted to. So I did not look up again, kept my eyes firmly on the ground and ran on.

To be fair all of this was very much was my problem. Mine and my father's, the legacy Malcolm Hawke, apostate, loving father, _maleficar,_ had left for his son. But it had been me who had opened the damned seal and let Corypheus out, all those years ago.

Though by everything I hold dear I swear he was dead. We made sure, and thoroughly so.

Yet I remember the victory had brought no elation, just a vague feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach and a bitter taste in my mouth. Back then I had blamed it on exhaustion, the proximity of the taint, out ghoulish companion Larius. We were all happy to leave the place far behind us and to drink ourselves into a stupor once back home. I had wished I could wipe all that had happened and all I had never wanted to learn about my family from my mind.

When the Wardens had begun to disappear... I knew. In their ancient prison I had firsthand witnessed the influence that Darkspawn Magister had over them. To find out it was all linked, the Divine's death, the Breach, this Elder One... that it all boiled down to one thing...

I had failed to kill Corypheus.

"I can see the Rift!"

My head snapped up at the shout. There it was indeed, the portal back to our world. It hung two feet above ground, spinning lazy circles. Like a wound in the very land, the rift bled an ominous green glow, the slick surface never still, always rippling like running water.

At the same time a shrill scream tore through the silence of the Fade, rising over out harsh breathing and the occasional panted curse.

"Watch out!"

The ground lurched beneath my feet and I lost balance for a second, thought I would go down. Stroud's arm prevented that from happening and we bumped into each other, righted ourselves in time - and then the whole company froze in place as the beast's bulk appeared on the horizon.

It had never closed in; all of a sudden it was just there, the grotesque parody of a spider – if spiders were forty feet tall and crawled straight out of the deepest, darkest abyss of one's worst nightmare.

Then again it was a nightmare demon. To think I had once wished for a little diversity. I could go with dull right now.

Instead I watched the repulsive, twisted mass of its pale flesh, a giant torso, bloated beyond all proportion, bob between eight legs that were far too slender to bear its enormous weight. Most spiders skittered, this one tore trenches into the ground with claws longer than I was tall. Black beady eyes covered its front, soulless eyes, and they roved over us, each burning with hatred…and hunger.

It made a hissing sound, angry because we had dared to wound it before or pleased at finally having caught up to its prey.

"RUN!"

We did, one final dash with the click of mandibles behind us, spurring us on. But this was _its_ realm and the demon bent the Fade to its will, distorting distances. It must have sensed our hope, our fear. We chased the Rift, lungs and limbs burning from the effort and we could not reach it and all the while, with every desperate, futile step, the demonic spider gained on us. The Rift looked to be right in front of us, both tantalizingly close and impossibly far away.

We would never make it.

Not with its attention fixed on us…on all of us.

oooo

We had looked into the Warden disappearance, the Inquisition and I, and we had found more than we had bargained for. The fight had been hairy, but when the fortress' ramparts had crumbled away under us, I sincerely believed it was time to make my peace with the Maker. I was too busy screaming out my guts and watching the ground rushing to meet me at an alarming speed to do so however, when the Inquisitor had opened a Rift.

Was it skill, instinct, destiny or pure dumb luck that it had spat us out here, unharmed? I couldn't begin to guess. Here being the Fade, caught with a friendly spirit that just happened to look like the late Divine and that monstrosity. Regaining the Inquisitor's memories was a high price to pay for all our lives.

oooo

"Wait!" They did, and I had to draw a deep breath before I could speak again, waving my arm wildly at the portal, motioning them to keep running. "Go, I'll cover you!"

"No!" Stroud had to choose this very moment to come to his senses. You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must-"

I did not let him finish. Yes, the Wardens had had a hand in this. But so had I. "A Warden must help them rebuild. That's your job!" As susceptible as they were to the Elder One's influence, they were also the only thing that could kill an Archdemon for good. I rolled my shoulders, felt the brief crick in my back that had been there ever since I had taken one particularly nasty blow from the Arishok and drew my twin daggers.

"Corypheus is mine."

No time to argue, that _thing_ was still alive. I showed Stroud forward and he stumbled, one step and then another and then with one last look back he and the others were running again. I dropped my pack; probably wouldn't need that anymore.

"Spiders!" Was that really what my voice sounded like? Had that catch always been there? I had once avowed that if I died, it would be with one last quip at the world's whims and now I could come up with nothing better than, "Always the Maker-damned spiders."

At least the thing was slow and stupid. I was under it before the demon realized that one tiny, crazy human was running towards it instead of away. I was not sure what damage my blades could do, but apparently it did feel their bite. The left dagger glanced off a piece of chitin, tough as steel armour, but the right one found its mark as I slashed at its underside, soft and vulnerable and heard its shriek of pain and outrage.

If I managed to stay beneath the spider and out of its sight, I would be alright. Its colossal size was also its biggest disadvantage. One time I had to drop and roll to avoid being entangled in a mass of writhing tentacles or shreds of rotting flesh that hung above and fought on.

Except that now I could feel my old injury with every move, and constantly looking up had made me dizzy. When one blow struck true, the boil I lacerated released a torrent of sticky fluid right on top of my head. It burned. My face, my eyes when some of it dripped into them, no matter how often I wiped it off with my arm and my tears blurred the world around me into indistinct shapes.

I gagged, vomit rising at the back of my throat, acerbic and burning and spat on the ground to get the sour taste out of my mouth. Because the smell of the inside of a giant spider right from the depths of the Fade's less alluring side was right on top of the list of things I never wanted to think about, along with Darkspawn eating habits and the act that had led to my own creation.

When I tripped, over my feet no less, and fell to the ground, for a moment I thought I could feel grass between my fingers, thick and cool. I definitely could feel the ground shake as the demon moved above me, still searching. But not for much longer.

I was furiously blinking spider juices out of my eyes and when I looked up I saw that my companions were clear and going through the Rift. So the distraction had worked. With its attention focused on me the demon had lost its grip on the others. I thought I recognized Stroud and the Inquisitor. They seemed to be looking in my direction and with hope blossoming in my chest once more I realized I could yet make it. One heartbeat of hesitation and then I jumped to my feet despite my protesting muscles, sheathed my daggers and sprinted from under the demon. I could feel its roar of fury when it caught sight of me again, right through the chest, my heart skipping a beat.

I grabbed my pack from where I had discarded it earlier and slung it over one shoulder on the run. I would need it, after all. The Rift opened up before me, I put in one last effort, could already see myself jumping through, rolling to my feet with a grin. I'd bow and tell the others they were welcome and provide Varric with one more incredible story. The Champion of Kirkwall had not lost his edge.

And then, mid-stride, the Rift snapped shut. Right in my face and close enough to singe my nose-hairs. Not that I have many; Anders is picky about that sort of thing.

One moment it was there, and then it was gone, and nothing but the vast emptiness of the Fade lay before me, blurred black towers visible on the horizon. I staggered a few more steps forward, almost fell to my knees again, because Maker, please, no! I watched with horror as my own hand rose to brush through where one second ago had been my way out of here. My way back home, to my friends, my lover-

The Inquisitor must have closed the Rift, effectively trapping me here. With the Nightmare right behind me.

Now, I do think of myself as quick-witted and in fact, my mouth has this habit when it moves and words come out and usually they are neither very helpful nor appropriate. Just this once though I thought it fitting to borrow one of Anders' favourite phrases.

_"Andraste's furry knicker-weasels!" _


End file.
